


Keep Your Chin Up

by ellenmellenn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s10e19 The Werther Project, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicide, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3838909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellenmellenn/pseuds/ellenmellenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda for 10x19 because I desperately want more scenes of everyone being a cute family and living in the bunker together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Your Chin Up

Dean parks the Impala in the bunker’s garage just after midnight. The drive home did him good, but he’s still tired in that soul-deep way that happens when a cursed object forces you to face your deepest psychological demons. In a fucked up way it’s funny how many times this has happened in Dean’s life.

His back pops when he steps out of his baby. His brain knows it wasn’t real, but his body can still feel the residual adrenaline buzz and the metallic taste of paranoia that comes in Purgatory. Napping for about three days sounds really good right now. Or it would if he could sleep without nightmares. But hey, now he’ll have some scene variation. Dean’s almost gotten bored watching himself slice up his family in the bunker or in the random motels his subconscious drags up. Now there’ll be foliage.

Sammy doesn’t look like he’s doing much better. Dean holds the door open as his brother shuffles into the bunker. He slings an arm around Sam’s waist, which seems thinner than Dean remembers and he’s going to have to look out for that, and leads him to the kitchen. He’s prepared to bring up how much blood Sam lost and health bullshit, but Sam doesn’t protest at all. _God_ , Dean is tired, but supporting Sam, no side-eye or hesitation, just leaning on Dean like he used to when they were kids: Dean also feels better than he has in weeks.

“Welcome home, bitches,” rings out from the library, followed closely by the visual of the new members of their household. Charlie and Cas stop short, presumably at the pitiful sight he and Sam must be, half-supporting each other, both about to pass out where they stand.

“Sup,” Dean says, nodding his chin up, and Sam gives a feeble wave. His giant of a brother feels a lot lighter suddenly, and Cas’s arm presses under Dean’s from Sam’s other side. Even total exhaustion can’t impede the way Dean’s stomach flips at the contact. Charlie skips ahead to the kitchen and has two glasses of water and a bottle of ibuprofen ready when they sit down.

“Thanks.”

“You guys look like ass,” she says, and Sam flips her off before grabbing one of the water glasses and draining it. Dean pushes his glass toward Sam and slides the ibuprofen back to Charlie.

“Good to see you too,” Sam says and downs the other glass. Cas refills them, setting Dean’s down firmly and not turning away until it’s empty.

 “We’re not as bad as we look,” Dean assures them once Cas is satisfied. “Lotta’ blood loss, but we managed not to get thrown into anything or punched this time around. Please tell me we still have food in here somewhere.”

“Two sandwiches coming up,” Charlie replies, and starts digging through the fridge. Apparently Dean lives with two angels.

Cas slides into a chair across from him.

“What happened?”

“Curse box. Jumps into your brain and projects whatever’ll make you wanna kill yourself,” Dean explains. “Sammy got the guilt trip to end all guilt trips, and I got a one-way ticket back to Purgatory.”

Cas’s mouth tightens and his squint gets even squintier. Dean smiles at him like an idiot and blames the blood loss. Cas looks so mad when he’s concerned.

There’s a _clack_ when Charlie plops two plates with turkey sandwiches in front of them and Dean startles. She rolls her eyes at him and sits beside Cas.

“I didn’t realize Purgatory still affected you so negatively,” Cas says.

If Purgatory’s still affecting one of them negatively, it’s not Dean. Cas looks every bit as guilty as the day he got out. Dean doesn’t care that this is not a topic he wants to bring up, just needs to clear away one second of self-hate from Cas’s brain, when he says,

“No, no, it’s not like that; Purgatory didn’t make me wanna kill myself. It was my happy place.”

And that does it. The guilt and regret dry up immediately into utter confusion. Sam and Charlie seem equally shocked. Dean doesn’t care. He knows it’s fucked up but it is what it is, and he’s not explaining himself. It’s a feeling he doesn’t want them to understand, hopes they never will.

So no, Dean’s not even gonna try to touch on that one. Besides, what he’s got to say will be enough of a Dr. Phil moment as it is.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he chastises the three of them. “And enough with the distant staring thing; if you’ve got a problem, speak up.” He takes a bite of the sandwich for dramatic effect. Then another because _shit, that’s a good sandwich._ “Charlie this is great,” he says around another huge bite.

“Dean, what the hell?” Sam spits. “You said it sent you to Purgatory and left it at that in the car.”

“Yeah, well, you lied about whatever you saw too,” Dean counters. Sam immediately defaults to his poker face. “Ha! See?”

“Fair enough,” Sam mumbles.

“Eat your sandwich, you need it. And it’s good.”

“Dean.”

“Sam. I will talk about this shit in a minute, swear to god. Just eat your damn sandwich first.”

Dean appreciates the effort Sam goes through not to argue. He’s moodily nibbling his crust like a fucking five year old when it dawns on him that yes, he is extremely hungry, and Dean laughs when Sam almost chokes from eating too fast.

Dean turns to Cas and Charlie, who have been way too quiet and thinking way too much.

“What’d y’all do while we were gone? Any wild and crazy parties in the dungeon?”

“This is a secret bunker, Dean,” Cas says at the same time Charlie says, “We have a dungeon?”

“We’ll give you a better tour later,” Dean promises her. “But really, what did you do?”

“Charlie’s been educating me on the important differences between the original Star Trek series and its Next Generation branch. I knew most of the plots already from Metatron’s influence but she’s correct that knowing and experiencing are vastly different.”

“You showed him Star Trek without me?” Dean whines and Charlie grins.

“You snooze, you lose, old man.”

Charlie is no longer his friend. Charlie ceases to exist in this dimension.

“Don’t worry, we barely started and we saved all the movies to watch with you.”

Charlie is reborn. He should’ve known she was a phoenix with that crazy fire-red hair.

“You are forgiven.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, solemnly.

 “No, not you, Cas.” Dean may want the experience, but who is he to take the freedom of Star Trek and the internet away from anyone? “You were never in trouble. Watch all the Star Trek you could dream of if you want.”

“It is a very interesting show. Their science sometimes hits on developments yours is surprisingly behind in. But I believe it is more pleasurable to watch with friends.”

Cas has this tiny smile on the word ‘friends’ and Dean’s heart melts into a sloppy puddle until he schools his face in front of Charlie and Sam. It’s so much harder to keep his distance when Cas is _right here all the time_.

“We can watch some tomorrow if you’re game,” Dean says, finishing the world’s greatest sandwich. “I need a recoup day anyway.” Some of the weariness has gone away now that he’s eaten, but he’s still fucking wiped. And he knows it’s gonna take all the energy he’s got to make it through what he wants to say without wimping out, getting aggressive, or straight bolting mid-sentence.

Sam always has this intuition for where Dean’s mind is, even if he has no clue what Dean’s thinking or why. Sure enough, he picks now to stack his empty plate on Deans.

“Dean.” Sam looks at him expectantly and waits. Cas and Charlie let their conversation lapse into silence. Dean grips the edge of his chair where they can’t see him white-knuckling it.

Okay. Okay. He can do this. Sharing and caring. _Feelings._

“So the suicide box,” Dean begins, and there’s the predictable stillness that always follows the word ‘suicide.’ People always hold their breath, like they can keep their heads underwater and avoid wherever the topic leads. “You can’t be all that surprised to know I’ve already thought through any argument it was gonna make.”

No one is surprised, but they all look so fucking _sad_ and this is why Dean hates having these conversations. It’s not enough to feel like dying and be scared of himself all the time; he has to feel guilty about it too.

If he could be stronger they wouldn’t have to look so sad.

_But that’s what this is about_ he reminds himself. The Mark’s a curse. Just like that box was a curse. And for the moment, he is stronger than it. He wants to stay that way. So even though every instinct he has is begging him to make a joke and pack all this shit away, Dean knows he needs this. Needs them.

“So we—, I—. The vision,” he finally decides on, because telling them his mind dressed up as Benny is more than he’s up for today, “didn’t spend too long talking over why I should kill myself, it’d be a little redundant. Instead it, uh, focused on some other points that I have been… ignoring. To say the least.”

His voice is quieter than he’d really intended.

“I can’t ask any of you to kill me. No matter how bad I get. Even if I go full demon again.” He pauses, finds the words he needs to explain. “I know I couldn’t. If it was any of you. I couldn’t, I never could. I’d let the world burn first. I’ve done it before, and I’d do it again, every time. So I’m not asking you to anymore.”

“If worse comes to worst, I’ll try to do it myself. But I’m avoiding that option if at all possible.”

“I don’t—” His voice breaks and he has to start over. Pushes himself through it. “I don’t know what else we can do. I’m all outta ideas. And I don’t know if there’s any way I come out good on the other side of this, whether I survive it or not.”

He feels certain about what he’s saying for the first time in this heart-to-heart when he concludes, “But it is not your responsibility to see it end. I don’t want any of you feeling like you’ve failed me or anyone else if it ends bad.”

His family is sitting around him in the home they share and Dean is turning into a demon again but he isn’t one yet.

“You three are the only reason I’ve kept kicking this long. I’d have been long dead without you.”

It’s completely silent after he stops talking. Dean waits like a prisoner for sentencing but the silence lasts and lasts. It’s awkward and his skin is itching under his cheap shirt and the Mark of Cain and his own embarrassment. Panic sets in easy. _This was a stupid idea, I shouldn’t have said anything, they didn’t need to carry this shit, I just made everything worse, I’ve gotta leave, I’ve gotta—_

He’s midway through pushing his chair away from the table when Sam pulls him in. Sam’s floppy mop of hair is in his eyes and getting into his mouth and the hug is too tight and it’s perfect. Dean hides his face in his little brother’s hair and doesn’t say anything, just soaks up the comfort Sam’s offering. He hears the shrill slide of metal on the floor but he’s busy trying to ignore everything in the world but Sam. So it takes him completely by surprise when Charlie’s tiny hands wrap around his shoulders. Cas doesn’t move visibly, but Dean feels his leg press against his own under the table and it’s way too much.

“Okay, okay, enough,” he mumbles, refusing to look at any of them. He pulls away from Sam and Charlie, hunching over the table and tugging at his hair, which makes it a complete coincidence that his palm is right where his eyes are because Dean is definitely _not crying not at all_. He leaves his leg against Cas’s, and Cas returns the pressure steadily. Leaning against Cas is like lying flat on a mountain. Dean can feel the ground under his feet better. His body doesn’t feel so heavy.

“We’re not giving up on finding a cure, Dean,” Sam promises him.

“I know you aren’t,” Dean says, and it’s more than an acknowledgment. “So I guess I’m not either.”

Sam, Cas and Charlie don’t know what to say and Dean doesn’t want to talk anymore. The quiet isn’t awkward anymore though, and he indulges in it for a moment before all the different kinds of tired he is hit him at once. Then it’s all he can do to will himself to stand.

“I think this has been enough feelings-talk for me for the whole week,” he says, messing up Sam’s hair even more as he goes. “If you wanna say anything else about it: please, don’t.” Charlie squeezes his arm as he walks past and he can’t believe she hasn’t always been a part of this unit they made for themselves. He elbows her shoulder and bails as fast as he can.

He makes it all the way to his bedroom door before he hears his name called from behind him.

Cas keeps walking and Dean takes a step toward him so there’s only the width of the hall between them when Cas stops.

“What’s the word, Cas?”

“Thank you,” Cas says without preamble.

Well that’s not one he was expecting.

“For what?”

“At the diner, months ago now. What you asked me,” Cas says and it clicks into place. The hallway around them is empty but Cas keeps his voice low and quiet, like what he’s saying is too private to exist beyond the few feet between them. “And again, after Cain, when you handed me the blade. I know I never agreed to the promises you asked me. But I have— I wanted to try. If you needed me to. But Dean,” Cas says and stops to collect himself. He looks so upset all of a sudden that Dean reaches out, lays a hand on his shoulder and smooths little circles with his palm. Cas is full angel again, for all Dean knows he can’t even feel this. But he leans into Dean’s hand anyway. “I have hurt you more times than I care to remember, Dean,” Cas finishes. “Thank you for not asking me to do so again.”

Dean whispers when he responds. “I’m sorry I asked you to, Cas. I never should’ve. It’s just, you gotta know I’d rather it be me. I’d rather die than hurt you.”

Cas’s smile is fond and Dean doesn’t understand how anyone can look at him like that when he’s literally talking about killing them. But Cas knows exactly how bad it is and he’s still staring at Dean like he’s worth something. Just like he always has.

“I know, Dean.”

Neither of them are moving, just standing in front of Dean’s door, and Dean doesn’t want to move away but he doesn’t know what else to do so he keeps his hand on Cas’s shoulder but says, “I guess I should go sleep. Try to sleep. I have an ipod. I’m, I’m gonna listen to my ipod.”

Cas nods and doesn’t move either. When he speaks, it’s slow and cautious, like Dean might run away at any moment. Which if his legs were working better, he might.

“I could help. I am, as you said, ‘back.’ If you’re having trouble falling asleep, I could assist you.”

“Sure man, I mean, if you’re offering I won’t turn you down.” Cas nods and Dean leads the way into his room. Cas studies the shelf above his bed while Dean changes into his boxers and a clean t-shirt.

“It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” Dean remarks, and feels like an idiot because _no shit, Dean, his grace has been missing, I think he’s aware._

“I’m glad I can do something helpful for you again,” Cas replies.

“You’re always helpful, Cas. Don’t need angel-powers for that.”

Dean gets comfortable and Cas leans down to press a finger to his temple. Maybe it’s because he’s already spent so much of today being honest with himself, a horrible fact Dean will do his best to forget in the next few days, but before Cas can knock him out Dean says, “Wait,” and Cas stops.

“I was just thinking. Falling asleep is hard and all. But I have these, um. Nightmares. Sometimes. And I was wondering if there was any way you could whammy me so that I could go comatose for few hours instead.”

Cas is thinking and Dean hopes he hasn’t already asked for something else Cas can’t provide when Cas shrugs off his coat and blazer.

“Cas?”

He toes off his shoes and socks, and no force on earth could keep Dean from staring because for Angel of the Lord Cas this is basically naked. He keeps it together until Cas undoes his belt and then Dean’s got to ask again,

“Cas, what are you doing, man?”

“Your body,” Cas answers as he lies down on top of the sheets, beside Dean, “never seems to get the appropriate form of rest when I ‘whammy’ you to sleep for an extended period of time. I believe blocking the processes that lead to your nightmares and dreams inhibits your natural state of rest. I didn’t see it as an important difference before, since you’re rested either way. But being human gave me more knowledge into the body’s emotional response to sleep and the process of ‘winding down.’” Cas’s face is inches from his own and Dean doesn’t know if he could possibly sleep tonight even if Cas told him the Sandman, himself, was coming to knock him out. “I thought,” Cas continues, a shaky undercurrent to his voice as some of his bravado slips, “that if I monitored you while you slept, I could steer your mind away from unpleasant dreams while allowing the normal sleeping process to continue.”

“Oh,” Dean says, like he understood a thing Cas said just now, and didn’t miss the whole explanation staring into his eyes. “Ok then.”

Cas seems pleased

“Are you comfortable, Dean?”

“Yeah. I’m, uh, I’m good, Cas,” he mumbles. “Are you?”

“Yes, Dean, I’m very happy here.”

Dean blushes and doesn’t look away. He does his best to memorize every feature of Cas lying in bed, hair pressed between his face and Dean’s spare pillow, blue eyes bright in his dark room.

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“Would you like me to be?”

He only hesitates for a moment. “Yes. If you won’t be bored waiting around so long.”

“I won’t be.” Cas says and he sounds so certain. Dean wonders how his day ended here.

Instead of a finger pressed to his forehead, Cas reaches over to gently cup Dean’s face. Dean closes his eyes as Cas’s thumb strokes his cheekbone and he has just enough time to pray, _Thanks, Cas_ , before he’s dropped into the best sleep he’s had in years.

\---

Ten hours later, Cas’s blue eyes are the first thing he sees when he wakes up. 


End file.
